At the end of a long walk...

          There were works undone, pages unfilled, hypothesis unstated and my thesis incomplete.  I struggled lot. When it was not happening, I believed in miracles but the mountains were not moving; I believed in words but the pen was not writing. When I learned that nothing was falling in order in the way how I wanted it to be, I began my long lonesome walk. I began to walk backward. Back to books, back to Photostats, back to journals and back to those research experiences which I lived once. I knew I had to walk back to move forward.  Disconnecting the girl in me from everything I was obsessed with, I walked.

There was fascination but there was fear. Be it the set of pending facebook notifications or a discount sale of attires or dozens of glass bangles or carnival of Mohanlal movies; I didn’t stop my walk. I knew I had to live ten years behind time to jump one year forward. I couldn’t see the sky or feel the breeze yet I didn’t stop my walk. People roared, wept and yelled at me, still I didn’t stop my walk. There were celebrations, there were parties, there were outings; yet I didn’t stop my walk. I was moving behind the train of time to reach those uncovered distances. It was ironical. I walked with measured footsteps, just enough to make sure that I seem to be moving but not too fast or too slow. There were unread messages, unattended calls, unwritten words but I had to walk without break. Many voices reminded me that I am becoming selfish and unfaithful. But I had to because I wanted to be faithful in my walk..

Spiders formed its webs and lizards laid its eggs. I didn’t want to destroy and drag them off from corners while they were the only companions. I knew I was breathing life into my thesis. There were corners. There were walls. Yet, I was walking my thesis. Yes..walking! I walked the same road every day; stopped at the same places, drank from the same cup and ate from the same plate. The walking continued. There were long days and nights. I was weary, I was tired yet I didn’t stop my walk. I was becoming weak. But I knew I have to bring myself down to build upon and grow stronger. I knew, I was travelling to seventees and the youth in me was crying. But I didn't stop walking. There were grey hairs but I left it unnoticed. There were dark circles but I left it uncured. There were wounds but I left it bleeding.  Everyday there was same amount of happiness, same amount of desperate, same amount of moronic but I didn’t stop. It gave me a weird pleasure in knowing that I walk like a machine because once upon a time, I was lazy.  I smiled at my laziness and continued walking...

After a period of  two months, the colors were withering away and lights were diminishing. Slowly  life turned 'black and white'. I floated on classics. I pondered over colourlessness. I lived my tribal life. There was history. There was culture. There was language. I found, it was rich and classy.  I created that four hundred and eleven pages of epic - my research thesis carved on a hand-made design. It looked old and melancholic, telling tales of deprived. When I began to get a sense of space, I was eventually becoming the path. I stopped my walk because I had become the path... I didn’t continue to walk back or move forward but just stood where I was. And there was a building staying in its heights and glory, bright and tall. I prayed that it must have long-life and I want to look at the world from its balcony...

I began to know the space I walked, and distances I covered.  From the location of coffee cup placed on the edge of my table, to my laptop and its keys I typed; from those books and Photostats, to the library shelves from where I nurtured them ; from  my experiences and experimentation with tribal children of  Attappady, to the pages inside my research diary; from the spider webs and lizards to those invisible voices in Radio FM; from the printing press where I bind my thesis to the desk of my Research Guide where I got it stamped; from the corridors of my University  to the balcony where I stand looking at my life;from the day of my thesis submission to the day I write about it...It gives nothing, but dimension of space.

 Being here, I don’t know where to go and where not to. One thing is clear. I can the watch luminous sunsets here. I can feel that unexpected breeze here; I can smell the kissing rain and wet earth here; I can feel the love and warmth here. It gives a strong familiarity as if I had lived here for ages. After the end of a long and tiring journey when I need rest, this is the place where I want to keep my teary head; this is the pillow where I want to bury my cozy feelings, this is the place where I want to spend my laziness, this is the corner I want to sit and write, this is the place I have to live my life.. I can’t move a step beyond or a step beneath. I love the space where I am...Rest will be history.

P.s: I finally submitted my 3 and half year old PhD thesis. Many days and nights have been offered up in the process, but the journey has been worth the effect....Thanks for all your love and support.